


16&Pregnant (with Voldemort's baby)

by PenguinLoki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Bashing, Crack, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Just... so much character bashing, Mpreg, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-05
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2082312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinLoki/pseuds/PenguinLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has some thoughts and complaints about being pregnant with Voldemort's child. Crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	16&Pregnant (with Voldemort's baby)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harrypotteristherapy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrypotteristherapy/gifts).



> Do not take this fic seriously. At all. Just don't. 
> 
> Please note that there's no sex in this story and the insemination happens off screen and is barely mentioned.

The world had not been a kind place to Harry J Potter. He supposed that he must have been supremely happy at one point in his life; however that was before he had things like _memory_ or _non-abusive_ _relatives_  or _teachers that didn’t manipulate his entire existence_.

Still, with all of the complete and utter dragonshit he’d had to put up with in his life, this took the magical equivalent of cake.

At the tender of age of sixteen, Harry had never actually given long thoughts about his future other than “don’t die, don’t die, I know this school is making it difficult but _don’t die_ ”, and so he’d never wondered about the things that other people considered “big”, such as family. He certainly had never imagined that he’d be pregnant at sixteen. For… multiple reasons.

While Hogwarts had never really _given_ any sex ed classes, Harry had still (foolishly, it seemed) assumed that certain things were the same regardless of species. Having magical blood didn’t turn him into a seahorse, right? _Right?_

Wrong.

Though that was unfair. Technically speaking it wasn’t “magic” that put him in this predicament, it was… well an asshole with a god complex _playing_ with magic.  Or something. He hadn’t actually been clued into the particulars before he’d been kidnapped and dragged into this cell/bedroom thing.

In his downtime (and he had a _lot_ of downtime), he liked to imagine how the conversation that started the current hell that was the hellception of his life went down. It’s a dark room, it always is, with a large and ornate throne carved from some kind of dark stone that pulses slightly in the light. The lighting is green. Always. Because screw those guys with a Cleansweep if they think they deserve _red_.

Lord Voldemort is sitting on the throne, reclined slightly but not much as the seat is horribly uncomfortable. (Realistically, Harry thinks, the chair probably wouldn’t be painful, but this is his imagination and if he says Voldemort has a literal pain in the ass, then by Merlin he does.) Sitting to the side of the Throne of Clichés is Bellatrix Lestrange, stretched out on a conveniently placed sofa nodding along to what the Lord of Hippogriff Buggering is saying. Kneeling at the foot of throne is Lucius Malfoy wearing nothing but a standard house elf uniform, if simply because the image is amusing to Harry and he deserves joy in his life. Avery is in the background wearing very little and spinning around on a large pole. Harry doesn’t have a clear picture of who Avery _is_ , but it just seems _fitting_.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Mentioned-In-Polite-Conversation is going about his usual post afternoon tea routine: smoking quite a lot of Devil’s Snare and ranting about Harry and all the ways he’d like to see him dead or… or something. Bellatrix snickers along in agreement, absently punching a small, fuzzy, and adorable animal in her arms for her own amusement.

“I just… I just want him _dead_ , you know?” Voldemort says as his cronies nod along. Even Avery pauses his complicated upside-down-twirling maneuver to express his agreement. “But, it has to be _elegant_. I can’t just… I can’t just send in a spy and have them transport him to me while he’s asleep. There has to be a _process_ otherwise it’s just so _boring_.”

Bellatrix sits up as though to add commentary (or reach for the Snare, it’s anyone’s guess), but they’re interrupted by an intruder entering their midst. A door at the end of the lair bursts open dramatically and in skulks Snape, an excited gleam in his hair. 

He approaches the group and quickly shows his arm before waving it around like a snake, forearm out, to make his Mark look like its dancing. The customary greeting for all those who wish to speak to Voldemort. “My Lord, I have news! I created a new potion and—”

“Severus,” Voldemort interrupts with a deep sigh. “How long have we known each other?”

“Since I was a student at Hogwarts and your influence spread through my house to the point that I would have to join your ranks or risk being murdered, My Lord.”

“Exactly!” Voldemort exclaims with a faraway look of nostalgia on his face for a moment before snapping back to the conversation at hand. “And in that time have I _ever_ given even the _slightest_ indication that I care _at all_ about your potion making?”

“Well, no but—”

“Then why is it that you burst into my rooms at all times of the day to give me updates on these things? I haven’t taken a bath without you running in and telling me about the properties of different cauldrons in _years_!”

“You could try bathing more,” Lucius suggests. Voldemort kicks him in the head, but he’s otherwise ignored.

“I understand, My Lord, but you will want to hear about this!”

“Fine. Fine, Snape. But this had better be good.”

Snape nods frantically before speaking in an excited tone, “I’ve created a potion that makes it possible for men to get pregnant.”

There’s silence in the lair for a few moments before Avery falls off his pole with a loud thud that shatters the metaphoric spell cast over them and they begin asking rapid fire questions.

“ _Why_ would you _invent_ that?” Lucius asks, looking bewildered.

“How did you _test that_?” Bellatrix demands.

Avery voices his more to the point question of “what is _wrong with you_?!”

They suddenly find themselves silent once again because of a literal spell. Voldemort rises from his throne, wand in hand from the silencing charm, and speaks loudly and clearly in the quiet hall.

“BRING ME HARRY POTTER.”

The rest of the plan is a bit fuzzy for Harry. All he knows is that, elegance aside, he was suddenly kidnapped from his bed in Gryffindor Tower, thrown into a bag, and transported to this mansion? palace? well decorated cave? for reasons unknown but _disturbing_.

From there he’d been forced to drink a potion and then knocked out. Most of the time, he’s thankful for that. When he woke up he was told that he was pregnant with Voldemort’s child and then locked in the room he’s currently staying in.

All of that was six months ago, and despite what one may think, Harry actually had some power in the situation. The potion, it seemed, had some flaws other than the fact that it existed. For one, the pregnancy was a delicate and largely unknown situation due to the fact that Snape had few test subjects.

Harry wasn’t sure _where_ Snape got the test subjects, and decided not to think about it too much.

It seemed that high levels of stress could cause extreme harm to the hatechild in his belly, and seeing as how the entire situation was stressful, there were certain demands that Harry could make that would be instantly carried out.

For instance. In the event that the child was a girl that looked _anything_ like Harry’s mother, Snape was not allowed in the same building as her. At all. Ever.

He’d looked insulted at the request, but Harry was insulted by the entire situation, and he won out.

As time went on, and his stomach got larger, he’d decided to have some fun and give out increasingly bizarre and outrageous requests.

Today, for instance, he said he had a craving. A very specific craving and so far none of the Death Eaters had delivered.

“LESTRANGE!” Harry bellowed, not caring too much _which_ Lestrange answered his call. “WHERE IS MY CANDY?!”

There was a long pause before finally the door cracked open and Bellatrix entered, carrying with her a bag of Bertie Bott’s and the head of a kitten. Harry ignored the kitten. Life was better if he didn’t question the things Bella did.

“Potter.”

“I prefer Mrs. Voldemort.” He didn’t prefer it, but the look of horror and disgust on Trixie’s face when he said it was so rewarding every time. The look on her face when he called her Trixie was a close second. “Or Mrs. Riddle, I’m not picky.”

Not deigning to respond, Bellatrix tossed the bag of beans in Harry’s general direction. There was a split second where Harry wondered if his Seeker’s reflexes would allow him to catch it or if the ever growing weight on his stomach would prevent him. His stomach beat him, and the bag scattered all over the floor. That was just as well, though. “What is _this?!_ ” Harry demanded. “I specifically asked for only _grass_ flavored beans! That one is clearly _chocolate_ and I did _not_ sign up for that!”

“I’m sorry, Potter,” Bellatrix said through gritted teeth.

“ _Mrs. Voldemort._ ”

“But they don’t _make_ bags of grass flavored beans.”

Harry looked at Bellatrix for a long moment before taking a deep breath and then shouting, as loudly as he could, “I AM BECOMING STRESSED.”

Instantly there were a series of cracks outside his door as several Death Eaters apperated and began questioning what the pregnant wizard needed to become not-stressed. It was highly satisfying.

“First!” Harry said and there was instant silence. “I have to pee. However, I do not want to get up, so someone needs to make a spell that has other people pee for me.”

There was an awkward pause before Avery stepped forward, a cloak thrown over his usual outfit. “Such as spell would be nearly impossible, Pott—”

“I am carrying Voldemort’s baby and you will obey me!” Harry roared. He’d realized, long ago, that when he gave birth to this child (hopefully he’d be knocked out for that as well), he would in all likelihood be killed. With that knowledge, he had decided that there was no reason for him to not be as obnoxious as he liked now.

“But Potter—”

“It is Mrs. Voldemort!” everyone in earshot flinched violently and he grinned again. “And where is Snape? I am ready for my foot massage!”

Snape entered the room and, as per Harry’s orders, was dressed in an exact replica of one of Umbridge’s outfits.

Life might be completely hellish.

But at least he was getting some fun out of it.


End file.
